


A Flight of Fancy

by La Volpe (lavolpe)



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Feels, Canon Universe, Consensual, Deviates From Canon, Dubcon Kissing, Friends With Benefits, Lie back and think of Florence, Multi, Slow Burn, Swearing, Vieri is still a dick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-15 15:02:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12323379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavolpe/pseuds/La%20Volpe
Summary: Growing up in Renaissance Florence, Ezio Auditore struggles with love, friendship and duty to his family, but only one relationship stays with him throughout his adult life. Loving a genius can be...complicated.





	1. David and Goliath

**Author's Note:**

> With NaNoWriMo coming up, there may be a gap of some weeks before I post Chapter 4 - sorry!

Ezio combed his hair and tied it back in his favourite red ribbon, then smoothed down his embroidered doublet. He wanted to look his best tonight. His entire family had been invited to the Medici family's winter reception on the feast of San Giovanni, at their new palazzo at the northern end of the city. It was a great honour, and marked his father as a man high in Il Magnifico's esteem. More importantly it was one of the rare occasions when the nobility's young men and women got a chance to mingle, albeit under the watchful eye of their parents.

The Auditores arrived promptly and were ushered into a colonnaded courtyard that echoed to the voices of dozens of the city's wealthiest people. Ezio tried not to stare too hard. He had thought his family home fine, but the Palazzo Medici was far larger and more handsomely decorated, with painted alcoves containing marble statues all round the colonnade. In one corner a group of musicians with lutes and viols were playing a tarantella, though they were almost drowned out by the clamour of the guests. Through a gap in the crowd Ezio saw a table draped in spotless white linen, where servants ladled wine into rows of gleaming crystal goblets.

"Come along, Claudia," his mother said, guiding her daughter towards a group of women and girls. "Let's leave the menfolk to their business."

Giovanni Auditore led his sons in the opposite direction, towards a trio of somberly dressed noblemen. Ezio glanced back over his shoulder, hoping to see Cristina Vespucci amongst the girls, but no such luck. _Oh well, perhaps she'll come later._ He had only ever seen her at a distance, surrounded by her female relatives; perhaps tonight he might actually get to speak to her.

"Gentlemen," his father was saying, "these are my sons Federico, Ezio and Petrucchio."

Federico, who was twenty and destined to replace his father one day as head of the family bank, bowed to the men. Ezio followed suit, nudging Petrucchio to do the same.

"A fine litter of pups," one of the men said. "You are fortunate indeed, Auditore. And only one daughter?"

"Claudia. A good girl, just fifteen years old."

"You have someone for her yet? My cousin is recently widowed--"

"I'll bear that in mind," their father said. "A daughter is a precious asset, to be invested with care."

Just like Cristina, Ezio thought. Would her father consider the Auditore bank to be a suitable repository for their treasure? Ezio was determined to show himself--and his family--worthy of her.

"Speaking of widowers, I suppose the Vespuccis are not coming?" another of the noblemen said.

Ezio froze. What was this?

"Such a tragedy about _la bella Simonetta_ , is it not?" Ezio's father replied. "For such a one as she to be taken from us, cut down like a flower..."

"But her beauty will be preserved for all the ages, thanks to Maestro Botticelli."

"Still, not much comfort for poor Marco. They say he's utterly distraught."

Ezio didn't hear any more. Simonetta was Cristina's cousin, and recently dead of consumption; he had forgotten that the family would still be in mourning. He wandered away from the discussion and soon found himself at the wine table.

A smiling servant handed him a glass and he sipped the dark liquid cautiously. The wine had been sweetened with sugar, and dried rose petals floated on the surface.

"You're Auditore's boy, aren't you?" a deep voice purred at his elbow.

Ezio looked up, startled, and a little of his wine splashed onto the snowy tablecloth. He found himself face to face with a man in his early twenties, with a long nose and dark hair that fell in elegant curls on either side of his face. Giuliano de' Medici, younger brother of Lorenzo, patron of the arts and a famous jousting champion.

"Y-yes, signore," Ezio said, flattered to be recognised.

"And how are you enjoying studying with my uncle?"

For the last two years Ezio had been apprenticed to Giovanni Tornabuoni, brother of Giuliano's mother Lucrezia and banker to the Pope himself. It was a great honour, but it also meant many hours of tedious work learning the art of double-entry bookkeeping.

"It's...very interesting."

Giuliano smiled. "You don't sound very enthusiastic."

Ezio didn't know what to say without sounding disloyal.

"Come, walk with me," Giuliano said. "I like to get to know the young men who will be helping me and my brother to rule the city one day."

One could hardly refuse a request like that, though Ezio felt very conspicuous accompanying such a powerful and well-known man. He had seen Giuliano jousting last year, bearing Simonetta Vespucci's likeness painted on a banner, and his heart had swelled with pride at the sight of the glory of Florence embodied in this man. It was an honour beyond all his expectations to be noticed by such a personage. He imagined telling his family later; wouldn't Federico's nose be put out of joint!

Giuliano pointed out some of the statues, and Ezio made appreciative noises. The women depicted in softly gleaming marble wore the scantiest of draperies or often nothing at all, and he could not help but imagine Cristina, posed like a goddess--

"--And out here we have the garden," Giuliano said, ushering him through an archway.

A miniature forest of lemon trees, planted in huge terracotta pots and hung with lanterns, surrounded a fountain playing in a wide shallow bowl. More statues stood amongs the trees, like partygoers turned to stone by a passing Medusa. It was much cooler out here, and quieter too; in dark corners pairs of men talked in low voices, heads almost touching. When they saw Giuliano they began drifting back towards the inner courtyard.

"What think you of this David?" Giuliano said, pausing in front of a bronze statue. It was about five feet tall, and had been placed on a knee-high marble pillar for better viewing. The slender naked figure stood in an almost girlish pose despite the enormous sword in his right hand, and long ringlets fell about his shoulders under a helmet crowned with laurels.

"Impressive," Ezio replied, not knowing what else to say. His tutors had had little interest in the subject, preferring long discussions on the lives of the Caesars or Virgil's _Aeneid_ ; heroic topics befitting a son of the Florentine nobility. He took a sip of his wine, hoping it would lend him inspiration.

"It is by the late Donatello, commissioned by my grandfather. I feel it perfectly captures the fragile beauty of youth, that has the power to bring even the mightiest to his knees."

"I can see that," Ezio said, though he didn't really.

"He might almost have modelled it on you," Giuliano added.

Ezio started, and made the mistake of looking up into Giuliano's lambent topaz eyes. The older man gazed at him as at a work of art, running his eyes over Ezio's features as if measuring their proportions against an ideal. Ezio froze. His father had warned him that unmarried men often sought their pleasures from youths of fifteen or sixteen rather than paying for a courtesan, but so far Ezio had escaped attention. Now he felt pinned in place by those gleaming eyes that swept over his body the way his own had devoured the naked statues in the colonnade.

Giuliano took the glass of wine from Ezio's unresisting hand and set it down on the edge of the pillar. Then he reached up and unfastened Ezio's hair, coaxing it forward over his shoulders.

"There, that's more like it." He stepped closer and ran the back of his hand down Ezio's cheek.

"M-m-my lord--"

"Don't be shy, my boy. I won't hurt you, I promise."

Giuliano kissed Ezio's cheekbone, his jaw, his throat; gentle warm kisses that tickled his skin. Giuliano's arms slide around Ezio's waist, pulling him closer. Ezio stared up at the starlit sky, trying to pretend it was Cristina kissing him, but Giuliano's stubbled chin made that impossible. This was for the family, he told himself; he must not dishonour his father by offending the Medici. He thought of the banner snapping in the wind as Giuliano had galloped past the crowd and the roar of approval echoing around the piazza, and let the memory flood him with quiet joy.

Guiliano slid a hand down to cup one of Ezio's buttocks. Ezio could feel the older man's erection now through their combined clothing, and was surprised to find himself responding in kind.

"So, you like that?" Giuliano murmured in his ear. "Good. Put your arms around me, there's a good lad."

Ezio did as he was told, placing his hands chastely in the small of Giuliano's muscular back. He could feel the hilt of a dagger--no, a _cinquedea_ , triangular-bladed and deadly--thrust through Giuliano's belt. So easy to draw it and stab the city's co-ruler in the back. But of course he wouldn't do that. He wasn't ready to hang over a matter of a few stolen kisses. Had he not done the same himself to many a hapless servant-girl?

Giuliano lifted his other hand to tangle it in Ezio's hair, pulling his head back to plant ever hungrier kisses on his throat. Just when Ezio thought he would fall over Giuliano released him with a curse.

"My lord?" Ezio staggered upright.

Giuliano pinned him again with those eyes. "What I desire of you cannot be done here. Return to the company, and I will seek you out later."

Trembling as if he had fallen into the Arno in midwinter and only just climbed out again, Ezio walked with slow mechanical steps back towards the inner courtyard. At the last moment he recalled the disarray of his hair, and without thinking ran back to the statue.

"My ribbon, my lord," he said as levelly as he could manage.

"Of course." Giuliano stooped to pick it up, and held it out. "I shall claim it again later. And more."

Ezio bowed, hand on heart, and fastening back his hair he returned to his family.

* * *

Ezio hovered on the edge of his father's and Federico's conversations, sipping a replacement glass of wine and wondering when Giuliano would send for him. Wondering what the older man intended exactly. Wondering if he would enjoy it or not, and which of those possibilities would shame himself and his family the least. But an hour passed, and then another, and still the summons did not come. He was just beginning to think he had escaped scot-free when a different but nonetheless familar voice hailed him. It was Vieri de Pazzi, a youth of about his own age and son of one of the Medici's greatest rivals.

"So, Auditore," Vieri said, "you get more like your father every day. Bending over backwards to please our rulers..."

A common enough phrase, but the knowing way he said it made Ezio's stomach curdle. How much had Vieri seen?

"It's hardly my fault I'm popular," Ezio said, and knocked back the contents of his glass. Was it his third or his fourth? He didn't care.

"If that's what it takes to be popular," Vieri said, "I'll take being hated any time."

"Well, that shouldn't be difficult. You're so ugly, the whores have to put a bag over _your_ head."

Vieri clenched his fists and his jaw twitched, but even he wasn't stupid enough to pick a fight in the middle of all these Medici.

"Take that back, or I'll--"

"You'll what?" Ezio gestured around the courtyard with his glass. "I think you're outnumbered. Pazzi."

"Your family are nobodies," Vieri hissed, careful not to be overheard, "and the men you suck up to are worse. Jumped-up merchants who think they can rule over the oldest families in Florence..."

"All right," Ezio said, emboldened by the wine, "let's put it to the test. Ponte Vecchio, tomorrow, when the Angelus is rung."

"I'll be there. And I'll be bringing a few friends."

Ezio shrugged. "So will I."

* * *

The fight against the Pazzi went well enough, apart from a split lip, and Ezio congratulated himself on humiliating the ugly bastard and his uglier cousins. He was in no mood to return home, however, so he wandered the streets for a long time until he came to the Palazzo Vespucci. It was silent and dark except for one light in a window high up, on the corner overlooking a side street. Curious now, he glanced left and right then scaled the building until he was hanging just below the window ledge. In the candlelight within he could see Cristina sitting on a stool brushing her hair. She was wearing only a thin summer nightgown, almost transparent. Ezio pressed closer, his breath steaming the glass.

Cristina looked round at that moment and gave a little shriek, then snatched up a robe lying on the bed and threw it around herself to preserve her modesty. Advancing on the window with hairbrush in hand she pulled the casement open.

"Who are you?" she hissed. "And give me one good reason why I shouldn't scream for my father."

"I'm Ezio Auditore. And...I love you."

"Pah." She folded her arms. "Fine words indeed, for a sneak thief who climbs up to ladies' windows and spies on them."

"Not ladies plural," Ezio protested. "Just you. I swear."

"And that makes it better somehow?"

"I didn't mean to spy. But you weren't at the Medici's reception last night and I was worried, with your cousin falling sick and everything."

Her expression softened a little. "As you can see, signore, I am perfectly well."

"Good. I'm very glad."

"Now that that's established, I think you should go. My father will skin you alive if he catches you here, and as for me..."

"All right, I'll go quietly." He ventured a smile. "If you'll give me just one kiss."

She pursed her lips in thought. "I still have my hairbrush ready, in case you try to cheat."

Ezio grinned. That definitely sounded like a yes. He boosted himself up until his waist pressed against the windowsill, and Cristina leaned closer. There was an awkward moment when both of them tipped their heads the same way and their noses bumped, but then his lips were on hers and he forgot everything except how much he wanted her. It took every ounce of his self-control not to vault over the windowsill and take her in his arms, but he wanted this to go right. He had court her properly, once the mourning period was over, and win her for his own so that no-one could ever take her away from him.

Suddenly it was over and she was out of his reach again.

"Goodnight, Signore Auditore."

"Goodnight, Cristina." Just saying her name made his heart soar.

She tapped the hairbrush on her palm, fixing him with a determined look. He took the hint and dropped almost soundlessly to the ground, to walk away into the night he knew not where. _I have kissed Cristina Vespucci!_


	2. Maestro Leonardo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day, Ezio meets Leonardo da Vinci and starts to have doubts about following the family business...
> 
> (A cutscene plus an original one.)

Leonardo paced his studio, tapping a paintbrush against his right palm and pausing now and again to rearrange the bowls of pigments that waited to be mixed with oil. His first big client since that horrible business earlier in the summer; he had to impress her, otherwise it would be back to Maestro Verrocchio's studio as a mere collaborator, not an artist in his own right. Which meant little patronage and thus less money to spend on his true passions.

The knock at the door made him jump, and he nearly dropped his paintbrush into the bowl of powdered cinnabar. He ran nervous hands down the front of his sombre grey doublet--no more flamboyant rose-pink, at least not until his reputation was more solid--and opened the door.

Signora Maria Auditore, wife of an up-and-coming Florentine banker, was in her late thirties, still handsome and with dark hair as yet untouched by grey. She would make an interesting subject for a painting, perhaps a portrait or even as a model for a St Anne, sternly maternal--

"Hello, Leonardo."

 _Merda_ , where were his manners?

"Madonna Maria!" He kissed her once on each cheek.

His new patroness smiled, politely but not terribly warmly. Was she offended by his pause before responding, or had his welcome been overfamiliar? She turned away, and for a horrible moment he thought she would leave.

"This is my son, Ezio," she added, beckoning to her companion.

A tall, dark-haired youth, practically the male image of his mother, stepped into view. He was perhaps seventeen, on the cusp of turning from boy into man... Leonardo pushed the thought aside almost before it could form.

Leonardo bowed with hand on heart. "I'm very honoured."

The young man returned the gesture. "The honour is mine."

 _Jesu Christo_ , it was enough to send a man to hell just looking at him. Those eyes, dark and deep as sin, and a half-healed split lip that just begged to be kissed better... _Stop it, Leonardo! Or do you want the Officers of the Night to turn their beady eyes back in your direction? He's the same age as Saltarelli, and a lot better connected._

"Let me go and fetch the paintings. I'll be right back."

He retrieved the box of pictures his patroness had selected: some small landscapes from back when he was with Maestro Verrocchio, and a madonna and child he had started for another patron who had gone elsewhere after the scandal. With any luck he might charm her into a proper commission--and this time he would ask for payment up front, just in case. She had mentioned a daughter last time they met, so perhaps a portrait for a suitor? Or--he hardly dared to hope--a painting of her son. Though unless Ezio were the eldest there seemed little likelihood of the family wasting money on a portrait of a boy. Maybe he could offer to do a preliminary sketch for free, as a token of good faith?

As he emerged from the studio he realised Maria Auditore was castigating her son for some misdemeanor. He didn't catch the words, just the boy's embarrassed groan of protest, so he didn't know if the warning was against himself or not. Still, he resolved to be more careful in front of his patroness.

"Back to your house, then?" he said to her.

"Yes, of course. Ezio, help Leonardo, will you?"

Leonardo handed the boy the box of paintings, and for a fleeting moment their fingers touched. Leonardo almost bit his tongue in an effort not to yelp, but thankfully Ezio turned away before Leonardo's blushes could betray him, and followed his mother down the street. Leonardo stood in the porch for a moment, trembling with conflicted emotions. _Pull yourself together, man! This is too important to throw away on a futile infatuation._

He hurried after the Auditores. Perhaps some small talk would take his mind off his present discomfort.

"So, Ezio, what do you do?"

"He's been working for his father," Maria said.

"Ah, you're to be a banker."

"For now," Ezio replied. "And you. Art, was it?"

"Truth be told, it's been difficult for me to settle. Painting is nice, but I often feel my works lacks... I don't know... a purpose. Does that make sense? I'd rather contribute more practically. More directly. Architecture, perhaps. Or anatomy. I'm not content to merely capture the world, I want to change it."

_Jesu Christo, why am I babbling like this? I'm supposed to be impressing his mother with what a brilliant artist I am, not pouring out my soul in a pathetic bid for his approval._

"Oh Leonardo," Maria Auditore sighed, "I have no doubt you will go on to do great things."

"Many thanks, madonna. That's kind of you." _Grazie, Jesu! Perhaps I haven't blown it yet after all._

Before he could think of another topic of conversation, they arrived at the Auditores' home: a small but well-proportioned palazzo a few streets away from his studio.

"Thank you for your help, son. Don't let me keep you from your other duties."

_All right, time to say your goodbyes. Make it good. Polite but warm. And not too obvious!_

"It was nice to meet you, Ezio. I hope our paths cross again."

"Me too."

Leonardo bowed and left the Auditores to enjoy their new paintings. Was that a sincere wish from Ezio or just a common pleasantry, such as any well-brought-up young man might say to an acquaintance? Both possibilities filled him with terror.

* * *

"Ezio, dinner!"

Ezio gladly closed the ledger he had been working on all morning and stretched his arms above his head, fingers laced together. The conversation with Leonardo had made him even more impatient than usual with the dull work assigned to him by Tornabuoni, and several times he had found himself staring at the columns of figures without the slightest clue what they meant.

"Ezio!"

"All right, mama! I'm coming."

He got up and sauntered through into the family dining room. His father was already seated at the head of the table, with Federico at his right hand. Ezio took his usual seat opposite Federico, with his younger brother Petrucchio on his left. Petrucchio was making faces at their sister Claudia, but stopped as soon as their mother sat down between them.

"Good," their father said. "All here."

They bent their heads whilst Father said grace, then sat and waited for him to take the first dish before helping themselves to the herbed lamb stew and noodles in cream sauce.

"Don't put so much on your plate at once, Ezio," their mother said. "Are you a nobleman's son, or a starving peasant?"

"Sorry, mama."

He scooped up a large forkful of the pasta, twirling it expertly and popping it into his mouth without splattering much of the sauce on his shirt.

"Leave him alone, Maria, he's a growing boy." His father cocked his head on one side. "Though by the looks of him he's going to take after Mario more than me."

Ezio glanced from his father to his mother, seeing quiet pride on the face of the former and resignation on the latter. His uncle Mario was the black sheep of the family, living out in the country in their grandfather's rundown villa. Ezio hadn't seen him in years, but he remembered a gruff man, more heavyset than his father, smelling of horses and saddle grease and with arms as brawny as a wrestler. He wondered why his father looked so pleased about him taking after his uncle; surely he wanted Ezio to be a banker?

"My sons will be the death of me," their mother muttered. "Brawling in the streets like common apprentices."

Ezio raised his hand self-consciously to his split lip, and pretended to wipe some sauce away.

"The Pazzi had it coming," Federico said. "They think they own Florence."

"They're second only to the Medici," their father replied. "It's not wise to make enemies of them."

"They started it," Federico protested.

"No," Ezio said quietly. "You don't need to shield me, brother. I started it. The latest fight, at any rate."

Federico raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

"Is this true, Federico?" their father asked.

"Yes, father."

Giovanni turned to look at Ezio. "We will have words later, my son. The dinner table is not the place for family discord." More loudly he added, "So, what has everyone else been up to?"

Ezio picked at his dinner whilst his mother waxed lyrical about Leonardo's paintings. Words with his father were only ever just that, unlike some families he knew, but Giovanni Auditore's words could cut deeper than any beating.

"Leonardo da Vinci?" Federico asked.

"Yes, why?" their mother said. "Do you know him?"

"A little. He's a friend of Il Teri--I mean, Leonardo de Tornabuoni."

Father and eldest son exchanged meaningful glances that were lost on Ezio. This other Leonardo was Giovanni Tornabuoni's grandson, so it wasn't surprising that he and Federico were acquainted with one another. And artists often moved in circles far above their social class, so of course they both knew Leonardo da Vinci. So why the funny looks?

"Well," their mother went on, "he's a very nice young man and an excellent painter. I thought we might commission him to paint something for us. An annunciation, perhaps."

"I like pictures of angels," Petrucchio put in. "As long as they get the wings right."

The conversation returned to less puzzling territory, and Ezio was able to make it through the salad and fish courses without incurring further attention. After the meal finished he returned to the study, and was not surprised to hear his father following him.

_Here it comes._

"Ezio, sit by the window with me," his father said.

"You want to play chess?" He'd never had much skill at the game himself; it required far too much planning ahead.

His father set up the board but made no move. Ezio waited, his confusion growing.

"How much do you know about Leonardo da Vinci?" his father said at last.

_So, that's what this is all about. And I thought he was going to tear a strip off me over the Pazzi._

"Not much. Mother says he was apprenticed to Maestro Verrocchio, but his father set him up with his own studio after he became a master of the guild in his own right. And he's not just a painter, he's interested in architecture and anatomy and all sorts of things."

"You admire him, then?"

"I hardly know him. I only met him for the first time today."

"Good, keep it that way."

"Why?"

"Because from what I hear you've already attracted the attention of one important man, and you really don't want to make Giuliano de' Medici jealous."

Ezio felt his cheeks burning. _Did everyone in Florence know about the other night?_

"It was nothing, just a flirtation. Giuliano's probably forgotten me already."

He realised he felt a little disappointment, as well as relief. Perhaps he could have turned the situation to his advantage, bartered his own body for Giuliano's support in his wooing of Cristina. Ezio wouldn't be a boy much longer, and then men would lose interest in him anyway.

"Even so, do not think to try and rekindle his interest by consorting with this artist."

"Father!"

"I'm serious, my son. It's barely six months since that da Vinci fellow was arrested for allegedly sodomising Jacopo Saltarelli, a notorious _puttano_."

"Arrested?" He thought back over the summer's gossip. He'd been too obsessed with Cristina to pay much attention, but... "You mean that business with the tamburo? What of it?"

His father sighed. "Everyone knows it happens, but it's also against the law. If you're not discreet it could be our family's name being dragged through the mud, not some penniless artist from the sticks. Do you want to be whipped through the streets, imprisoned, perhaps even exiled?"

"No, father, of course not."

"Then let this business with Giuliano de' Medici take its natural course, and avoid getting mixed up with a man who already has a tarnished reputation."

"Yes, father."

"Good, I'm glad we have that settled." Giovanni got to his feet.

Ezio looked up at his father. He had so many questions. _Did you have male lovers when you were a boy, or before you married Mother? What is it like? If Giuliano still wants me, what should I do to please him?_ But he dared not ask any of them.

"Put your books away and come to my office," his father added as he left. "I have some errands for you to run."

"Yes, Father."

He tidied his desk, reminded of the chaos in the artist's studio. He had felt oddly at home there, for all its clutter of sketches and animal bones and half-finished models of who knew what. In fact now the thought had been put in his mind he looked at the artist in a new light. Leonardo was so different from Giuliano de' Medici: fair-haired and slight where the other was dark and muscular; self-effacing where the other paraded before cheering crowds. And yet the two men were so alike in other ways: handsome, joined by a love of art and the new philosophy and with hearts full of passion. He admired Giuliano, it was true, but Leonardo fascinated him.

Not just the man himself, either. Some of the sketches pinned to the walls of the artist's studio, of strange devices that looked like the bastard offspring of a waterwheel and an armoury, had intrigued him even more. To hell with sums and accounts and banking! The world was full of amazing new ideas, and Leonardo da Vinci was at its centre.


	3. Wholly Innocent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cristina learns of the Auditores' arrest. That evening, Ezio takes care of the dead.

Cristina made her way downstairs with a book of psalms tucked under her arm. Since that night when Ezio Auditore had climbed up to her window and stolen a kiss, she had spent every hour that she could sitting by the window, pretending to read but actually watching the street in case he happened to walk past.

She had seen him often enough at a distance, staring at her and then pretending very ineptly that he hadn't, but that was nothing new. Plenty of boys looked at her that way, and her mother had warned her to be careful of their attentions, hinting darkly at sinful motives. Cristina had to agree that most boys her own age seemed awfully immature and foolish, which perhaps explained why they often did not marry until they were thirty, and then to girls much younger than themselves. Ezio was perhaps not very sensible either--a wise man would not have climbed up to her window like that!--but he seemed earnest and rather sweet. If only he were a little older...

"I simply cannot believe it." Her father's voice echoed around the stairwell. "A former Gonfaloniere, a traitor to the Republic."

Cristina paused at the bottom of the stairs. The house had been so quiet since Simonetta's death that even a moderately raised voice was like a shout. She slipped into the parlour and took her favourite seat by the window. A few moments later her peace was disturbed by her parents entering the room. Neither of them seemed to notice her at first, half-concealed as she was by an elaborately carved cabinet.

"There must have been some sort of mistake," her mother said. "They are not from one of the oldest Florentine families, it is true, but Giovanni has always supported the Medici."

Her father snorted. "Monteriggioni changes its allegiance more often than a woman changes her hairstyle. Who can say for certain where Auditore's loyalties lie right now?"

Auditore? Cristina closed her book quietly, all ears now.

"Even so," her mother said, "is that any reason to arrest the sons as well?"

Cristina let out an involuntary moan. _Ezio..._

"Cristina! There you are," her mother said. "I've been looking all over for you."

"I was just reading my psalms," Cristina replied, waving her book vaguely. "What is this about...about the Auditores?"

"Nothing you need worry your pretty little head about, my dear," her father said, crossing the room and leaning down to kiss her brow. "Politics is no concern of a woman."

"No, papa."

He smiled indulgently at her, then sighed. "I on the other hand have much to do at the Palazzo della Signoria. I shall perhaps return in time for supper, Lorenzo willing."

When he had left the room Cristina went to sit with her mother, eager to find out more.

"I believe the Auditores have three sons," she said cautiously. "At least, I recall Claudia telling me she had two older brothers and one younger one."

"That is correct. Your father said that only two of them were arrested, though. I expect young Petrucchio was allowed to stay with his mother; even Gonfaloniere Alberti is not so heartless as to throw children in prison."

Cristina turned away to hide her expression. She hardly knew Ezio, but the thought of him imprisoned in the tower high above the Palazzo della Signoria tore her heart. He was innocent, she was certain of it.

"W-what will happen to him--I mean, them. The Auditores."

"If they are found guilty, they will hang."

Cristina hugged the book to her chest. "I--I think I shall retire to my room, mama. I am feeling a little unwell."

"Shall I send Bianca up with a posset?"

Cristina's first thought was to refuse, but if it made her mother feel better... "Yes, please."

"Very well. I shall be in the library reconciling the household accounts if you need me."

By the time Cristina reached her room, however, the thought of shutting herself away, of imprisoning herself like Ezio was imprisoned, was unbearable. She needed to get out of the house. But how, and where would she go?

Whilst she fretted over this she picked out a warm mantle and a pair of pattens to keep her brocade shoes out of the winter mud. By the time Bianca arrived with the posset the plan had crystallised in her head.

"Thank you, but I'm feeling better already," she told the maid. "In fact I am moved to think of others who are less fortunate than myself."

"Madonna?"

"I wish to visit my friend Claudia Auditore. She has had a nasty shock and will no doubt welcome a friendly face to raise her spirits."

"Of course, madonna."

Cristina picked up her pattens and went quietly down the stairs, Bianca trailing in her wake.

"Let's not disturb my mother," she whispered. "You know how grouchy she gets when the accounts are overdue."

Bianca nodded, though she looked a little perturbed at the prospect of sneaking out of the house without informing her mistress.

"It'll be all right," Cristina added. "How can anyone object to a little Christian charity?"

The streets were busy with people shopping for Twelfth Night gifts or to fill up their larders with delicacies after the Advent fast. Cristina and her maid threaded their way through the crowds until they reached the small palazzo that was the Auditores' home. The wrought iron gate stood open and dead leaves littered the courtyard. How quickly a household fell into chaos!

After a glance up and down the street Cristina led the way into the courtyard. As she neared the front door she realised that it too was ajar, and she paused.

"Perhaps we should go home," Bianca said nervously.

"No," Cristina said, pulling herself together. "Claudia could be in trouble. But you should stay here in the courtyard, and run for help if you hear me scream."

"Madonna--" Bianca shook her head. "Your mother will beat me if anything happens to you."

"Then you had better pray that nothing does."

Before Bianca could protest further, Cristina eased the door open a few inches and slipped inside. The interior of the palazzo was an even worse mess than she had feared: furniture overturned, tapestries torn down and trampled, cushions slashed open to spew feathers and horsehair everywhere. Broken porcelain crunched under her pattens as she crossed the atrium. She explored a little further, seeing an open door and what looked like a study or library beyond.

Unlike the other rooms on this floor it had not been ransacked; perhaps it had been locked when the guards came to arrest Auditore? In which case it had been unlocked since then, perhaps by whomever had left the front door open. A pile of documents and a piece of what looked like armour lay on the desk. She edged closer, curiosity piqued.

"Cristina?"

She whirled, heart pounding.

"Ezio?"

"Cristina, what are you doing here?"

He closed the distance between them and took her in his arms. She was grateful for the support; she felt somewhat light-headed and her heart was still pounding, though now for a very different reason. She slid her hands around his waist, ignoring her mother's voice in her head warning her of the dangers of being alone with a man.

"They said you had been arrested," she mumbled into the rough wool of his doublet. _Blessed Madonna, please keep me from weeping! I do not want him to see me with a red nose and ugly swollen eyes_.

"As you see, I was not. Though my father and Federico and Petrucchio are now in the Palazzo della Signoria."

"Petrucchio? But he's only a boy."

"He is an Auditore, and my father's heir if..." She felt him shake his head.

"And Claudia, and your mother?"

"Safe. I took them to...a family friend. Someone I trust."

She sighed, relieved. He tentatively stroked her hair.

"You should not be here. My father's enemies will arrest me too if they find me, and--" His voice choked off. "They are not kind to women who get in their way."

She stared up at him. "They hurt Claudia?"

"No, she is unharmed. Just a little shaken."

"Send her my love, will you? We are not well acquainted, but I would not wish such events on my worst enemy."

"I will. Now, you must go."

He bent his head and kissed her, more passionately than the other night, and she returned his passion, suddenly desperate not to let him out of her sight.

"I love you, Ezio," she whispered as he released her.

For a moment he grinned like an idiot, then appeared to recall the gravity of the situation.

"Go," he said. "And do not look for me again. When it is safe, I will send word."

"How?"

"I don't know. But I promise I will find a way."

He kissed her on both cheeks, a more formal farewell, and escorted her to the front door. She slipped through the opening and was relieved to find Bianca still waiting.

"Was anyone there, madonna? I thought I heard voices."

"No, just me talking to myself to keep my spirits up. The family are all gone."

They walked home together in silence. Foolish, she told herself, to declare her love for someone she hardly knew, but there it was. The boy she had kissed through her bedroom window had been transformed overnight into a man. A man worthy of her love--if he escaped Uberto Alberti and the other enemies ranged against him.

* * *

Ezio lowered the last of the bodies into the boat. It had been difficult getting them past the guards unseen, but if he left a trail of mayhem behind him now it could jeopardise his plans for revenge against Alberti. There would be plenty of blood spilt soon enough; that he vowed.

The boat was one of the type used to ferry goods up and down the river for short distances, or across to Oltrarno on the south bank of the river. It rocked gently as Ezio stepped aboard and he took a moment to get his balance before pulling a canvas sheet over the bodies. It was almost night now, but he could take no chances with such a precious cargo. He untied the painter, took his place at the oars and pulled out into the current.

The current was flowing strongly, fed by winter rains, and he had to row hard to get across to the other bank before the Arno swept the little boat out of the city altogether. By the time the prow bumped against the bank Ezio's arms were aching, and his shirt was soaked in sweat despite the chill evening air. He tied up the boat, murmuring a prayer to the Blessed Virgin to keep the boat safe from prying eyes for a little while longer, and set off into the Oltrarno district.

It was not far to the convent of Santa Maria del Carmine, though he made a few wrong turns in the dark before he found it. A chapel of simple brown brickwork dominated the small piazza, with the convent buildings ranged to one side. Ezio went up to the convent's main door and knocked gently. After a few moments a panel at eye level slid open. Through the grill he could make out the wrinkled face of an elderly nun, framed in a white and brown wimple.

"Good evening, my son. What brings you here tonight?"

"I--" He had not thought this through, beyond getting the bodies away from the city guards. "Is Sister Francesca still here? I need to see her, right away."

"I'm afraid men are not allowed into the convent." The nun's tone was now rather cool. "Contrary to what you might have heard."

"I don't want to come in. Please, I need help. My father, my brothers--" He choked back a sob. "The guards were going to dump their bodies in the river."

The panel clacked shut, and for a moment he feared the nun had gone away. Then bolts rattled and the door opened.

"You're the Auditore boy, the one they're looking for," she said, peering up at him.

"Yes."

"We cannot offer you sanctuary here, you must understand that."

"I'm not looking for sanctuary. Not for me, anyway." He told her about the bodies on the boat. "I didn't know where else to take them."

"Come into the porch." She indicated a bench just inside the entrance. "Sit there and do not move an inch, if you value your immortal soul. I will fetch Sister Francesca."

Ezio sat down, elbows on knees, and stared at the worn paving. The familiar scent of _ribolita_ drifted across the cloister from the refectory. His stomach growled in response; how long had it been since he last ate? Supper yesterday? There had been no family dinner today, nor would there be any from now on. No more kicking Federico under the table or pulling faces at Petrucchio... He began to weep, quietly at first and then great sobs that shook his whole body. He barely noticed when the nun returned with a companion.

"Oh my poor boy," the older nun said, bending down to put a hand on his shoulder. "Take heart, and the Lord will give you strength. See, I have brought your cousin."

Ezio wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve and looked up. Sister Francesca had the same strong-boned face as his mother and the beginnings of the same lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth, though she was not much older than himself.

"Sister Hilaria says you have the bodies of my uncle and cousins in a boat nearby."

"Yes. I want them to be given a Christian burial. Can you do that?"

"I will have to ask our prioress, but of course I will do everything I can."

"Thank you, cousin. I mean, Sister." He got to his feet and bowed over clasped hands. "I will be forever in your debt."

"No debt is owed. It is our charitable duty to help those in need."

"Even so, I am grateful." He took out the purse he had found with his father's other belongings. "I can pay for coffins, and whatever else is necessary."

Sister Francesca glanced at her companion, who nodded permission, and Ezio handed over the money. It was a generous sum, but worth it to put his mother's mind at rest.

"I only wish my mother could come and hear Mass said for them."

"How is my aunt?"

"Safe. For now. I will take her and Claudia to my uncle in Monteriggioni. And when they are settled, I will send for the coffins and have them placed in the family vault beside my grandfather."

"Of course."

"It is late," Sister Hilaria said. "You, Signore Auditore, must leave, and we will speak to the prioress about your...troubles."

"What about the bodies? I can't just leave them in the boat, someone could find them."

Sister Hilaria frowned. "You had better take me there. Sister Francesca, find a couple of _conversi_ and send them down to the river with a handcart."

Ezio bade his cousin farewell and accompanied Sister Hilaria to the boat. The sight of an oddly dressed young man and a wizened nun walking together drew a few curious glances, and Ezio had to clasp his hands behind his back to keep from clutching at his sword hilt, but they reached the river without any alarm being raised.

Gazing down at the canvas-covered bodies, Sister Hilaria shook her head sadly and crossed herself. "Such wickedness, to murder a child. And only a day after the Feast of the Holy Innocents, as if Herod himself ruled our fair republic. God will punish the men who did this."

 _Not God. Me_.

But he could hardly tell the nun that. He took his leave of Sister Hilaria and disappeared into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm ignoring the slightly pointless "Last Rites" from ACB, because Cristina doesn't actually do anything apart from dissuading Ezio from killing the guards. Anyway, I like my version better! 
> 
> P.S. Sorry about the terrible title pun! #notsorry


	4. Anatomy of a Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonardo gets a surprise visitor, and Ezio learns how to maintain his new equipment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More cutscene fun, plus the bits Abstergo didn't want you to see ;)

Leonardo was working on the under-drawing for a new painting when a knock disturbed his concentration. He put the chalk down with a sigh and opened the door to see Ezio Auditore on his doorstep. The youth looked older than his seventeen years; hardly surprising, given all that he must have seen in the last couple of days. His father and two brothers executed on trumped-up charges, and his whole family declared enemies of the Republic... it beggared belief, even in Florence's cutthroat political arena.

More than his face, though, there was the dramatic change in his attire. His simple black jerkin had been exchanged for a silver-grey doublet slashed with red, a matching broad red sash and a half-cape; a well-used sword hung at his left hip. The boy was gone, and a fierce young condottiere had taken his place.

"Oh, Ezio Auditore! I didn't expect to see you again, what with all that's happened. Ack, where are my manners? Welcome back!"

He drew Ezio in for an embrace. After a moment's hesitation the younger man responded, patting Leonardo's back gingerly. _There, that wasn't so hard, was it? A little honest sympathy, nothing more. I'm not so wicked as to exploit a fellow human being's distress._

"Now, how can I be of service?" he added, releasing Ezio.

"I was hoping you could repair something of mine."

Leonardo blinked at this unexpected request, but at least it explained the visit. In the circumstances, a social call was extremely unlikely.

"Of course. Come, this way." He went over to his work table, which was covered in sketches and notebooks and other clutter. "What a mess. I've spent the whole day looking for... Let me clear a space. All right, let's see it."

Ezio produced a peculiar-looking vambrace made of leather and metal, rather archaic in design but of fine workmanship. There was some kind of mechanism on the inner surface, but it was rather rusty and in several pieces. All he could tell for sure was that it held a long blade, like a hiltless dagger. But to what purpose? There was no law against carrying a blade, so why go to such lengths to conceal one?

"Fascinating," he murmured, then remembered his visitor's request. "I don't know, Ezio. Despite its age, the construction is rather advanced. I've never seen anything quite like it. I'm afraid there's not much I can do without the original plans. I'm sorry."

Ezio reached out to take the vambrace, and Leonardo realised there was an antique scroll sitting on the table underneath it.

"Wait, wait, wait!"

He picked up the parchment, and the pieces of vambrace scattered across the tabletop.

"What are you doing?" Ezio cried out in alarm.

Leonardo unrolled the scroll to reveal a page of text, neatly written but completely incomprehensible, accompanied by a series of abstract diagrams. _Of course!_

"The contents of this page are encrypted, but if my theory is correct, based on these sketches it may very well..."

Ezio frowned. "It may very well what?"

"Please, sit."

"Leonardo!"

"Sssh!"

To his surprise the youth obeyed, taking a chair on the opposite side of the table. Leonardo bent over the archaic manuscript. Being lefthanded he had long ago adopted the habit of writing backwards so that he would not smear the ink as he wrote, which had led to accusations that he did so to conceal the meaning of his notes. A ridiculous notion, but as a result he had become intrigued by the art of encryption. The ancient Romans had had a number of simple transposition ciphers, but this looked more sophisticated than anything he had seen before. He scanned the document, and a pattern presented itself as if begging to be interpreted.

"Remarkable. If we transpose the letters and then select every third..."

Lost in the fascination of a puzzle he completely forgot about his guest until Ezio started to snore. Never mind. The poor boy deserved some rest, after all he had been through. He looked so young, with his features relaxed in sleep. Fragile, almost. Leonardo smiled fondly and went back to his work.

It took a couple of hours with oil and the smallest metal file in his toolbox to dislodge all the rust without breaking anything, and some improvisation with wires and springs to get it back in working order, but at last it was done. He tried out the mechanism a couple of times. Efficient, cunning, and extremely nasty. _I like it..._

He went over to Ezio and gently shook him awake.

"There, it's finished!"

The boy blinked and squinted up at him. "Huh? What's finished?"

"The blade." He held up the vambrace. "I managed to decode that parchment of yours. It showed me exactly what to do."

He waved his kitchen cleaver, but Ezio seemed too sleep-befuddled to notice.

"Now," he added, trying to keep a straight face, "all that's left to do is to remove your ring finger."

"Really?"

_Definitely only half-awake. But this is far too much fun to stop now..._

"I'm sorry," he replied, "but this is how it must be done. The blade is designed to ensure the commitment of whoever wields it."

Ezio's eyes widened a fraction, and he got to his feet. He placed his hand on the table.

"Very well. Do it quickly."

_Jesu Christo, he's really going to go along with it. I know people do some crazy things in the depths of grief, but this..._

Leonardo slammed the cleaver into the tabletop several inches from Ezio's outstretched hand and laughed nervously.

"I was only having fun, Ezio. Though the blade once required a sacrifice, it's been modified. Keep your finger."

Ezio put on the vambrace and operated the mechanism. The eight-inch blade sprang out with a _snick_. Even knowing what the device could do, Leonardo nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight, and a thrill ran down his spine: a mix of lust and fear, threaded with a dark joy. This was a new kind of danger, and one he was drawn to like a moth to a flame. Saltarelli was dross compared to this Angel of Death.

"Incredible," the younger man murmured.

"Yes, it is," Leonardo replied truthfully. An idea occurred to him. "Tell me, do you have other pages like this?"

"I'm sorry, only the one."

Yet surely there must be more? An invention like this was the work of a mind as fertile as his own, a fellow seeker of truth. If only this nameless genius were not long dead, as must be assumed from the age of the device and manuscript, what conversations they could have had...

"Listen, if you ever do happen across another one of these, please, bring it to me."

"You have my word," Ezio replied. "And thank you for fixing this. If--"

A hammering at the door interrupted him.

"By order of the Florentine Guard, open this door!"

"Er, just a moment!" Leonardo gave the scroll to Ezio, and gestured towards the bookcases, out of sight of the entrance. "Wait here."

The knock came again. Leonardo took a deep breath and opened the door. A mustachioed ruffian in black and red Florentine livery stood in the portico, his matching red face screwed up and fist raised ready to knock again.

"Are you Leonardo da Vinci?"

"Yes. How may I be of service?"

"I need you to answer some questions."

"Certainly."

He led the guard out into the adjacent courtyard so there would be no chance of him coming inside and seeing Ezio.

"What seems to be the trouble?"

"A witness claims to have seen you consorting with an enemy of the city."

"What? Me, consorting? Preposterous." _Well, it made a change to be accused of treason instead of sodomy._

"When was the last time you saw or spoke with Ezio Auditore?"

"Who?"

"Don't play dumb with me! We know you were close with their family." He pushed Leonardo hard, sending him off-balance so that he slipped on the summer-dried grass and fell. "Perhaps this will help to clear your head."

Leonardo curled his arms and head in against the guard's boot as it slammed into his ribs. Attempting to fight back would only lead to worse, in his experience.

"Ready to talk?" Another kick. "What about now?"

* * *

Ezio crept towards the front door, testing and retesting the blade mechanism. He had to get out of here quickly and quietly before the guard returned, or there would be no vengeance for his father and brothers. Perhaps if he just walked away while Leonardo distracted the man? Of course! The genius inventor was already one step ahead of him.

He went out into the portico and glanced up and down the street, looking for other guards in the area. Then he heard Leonardo cry out. _Cazzo di merda!_ He turned to see Leonardo curled up on the grass, the guard kicking him repeatedly. Without a second thought he walked up behind the bastard, put the heel of his hand against the man's stubbly neck and operated the mechanism. The blade went straight through the soft flesh, severing blood vessels as it went. The guard dropped like a sack of onions, blood spurting from his throat.

Leonardo uncurled and got to his feet.

"Thank you, Ezio."

"Sorry about that." He wasn't sure if he meant the mess in the courtyard, his lateness in coming to Leonardo's aid, or both.

"Eh, I've grown accustomed to their abuses," Leonardo said, dusting himself off.

Ezio nodded. The Saltarelli case must still be fresh in the city guards' memory; any excuse to pick on someone weaker than themselves.

"What of the body?" _I just killed a man. Why doesn't it bother me? Is this what it means to be an assassin? That you don't care any more? But I care about Leonardo; that's why I did it._ He shook his head, as if shaking off a troublesome fly.

"Bring it inside," Leonardo said, "and put it with the others."

"Others?"

"The city gives them to me for research."

 _Ah, so he's taken up anatomy after all._ That explained some of the more gruesome sketches amongst the clutter on the table.

He picked up the corpse and, after a quick glance around the street, carried it into Leonardo's studio. It only took a few seconds, but he felt he might as well be carrying a banner with the word 'traitor' emblazoned across it. What if someone was spying on Leonardo? They must be, surely, otherwise why would the guard turn up here? Even they needed some excuse to harrass the artist. Which meant Ezio might have been seen coming here. _Cazzo di merda!_

At the back of the studio, behind a muslin curtain that Ezio had never noticed before, was a rough trestle table draped with a bloodstained cloth. The air smelt faintly of decay, though the stink had been masked with bunches of rosemary and thyme stuck into bottles of vinegar.

"See? Like it never happened."

Ezio forced a smile. He wished he could be so confident. For better or worse they were both deep in this shit together now.

"Thank you, Leonardo. For everything."

"Any time. And remember, if you find more of those strange pages, bring them to me. Especially if they contain new designs." The inventor's blue eyes twinkled with anticipation.

"Of course. Now, I really should be getting back to Paola."

Leonardo placed a hand on his heart and bowed, though the light faded from his eyes a little at the mention of the courtesan's name. _Is he jealous? Surely I have given him no reason to be so._

"No apologies necessary." Leonardo stepped back and looked Ezio over. " _Cazzo di merda!_ You cannot go out in the street like that!"

"Like what?"

"You're covered in blood. Come, let's get you cleaned up, otherwise the guards will arrest you as soon as look at you."

Leonardo was right. Ezio's sleeve was scarlet from wrist to elbow, partly from killing the guard but mostly from carrying the body. The white assassin's robes looked very dramatic, but they weren't exactly a practical choice. Perhaps he could get them dyed a darker colour?

"Hurry up," Leonardo said. "The faster we work, the less staining there will be."

Feeling very self-conscious Ezio removed the vambrace and stripped off his cloak, doublet and shirt while Leonardo filled two basins with water.

"You clean the hidden blade," Leonardo said, "and I'll try to get the blood out of these. Make sure to dry it well; I'll give you some oil to apply afterwards, when it's bone dry. Lack of care could well be how it became ruined the last time."

"Of course." Ezio went to dunk the vambrace in the basin.

"No, no, not like that!" Leonardo handed him a cup and what looked like an old paintbrush. "Pour a little water over the worst of it, then get into the nooks and crannies with a wet brush. Soaking the leather will just mean it takes longer to dry out."

Ezio set to work. It was oddly satisfying to get so intimately acquainted with his new weapon, and frankly a relief to be rid of the evidence of the murder. Because murder it was, whichever way you looked at it. The city guards might be ignorant brutes but they were Christian men with souls, and he had killed one without any opportunity for absolution or last rites. That was the worst part, the least forgiveable, and he vowed to do better in future.

"How are you getting on?" Leonardo asked, startling him out of his reverie. The artist had materialised at his elbow and was now frowning at the vambrace.

"All cleaned up," Ezio replied with a grin.

He set the weapon down carefully on the table and dried his hands on a clean rag. Leonardo had not moved, but now he was looking at Ezio rather than the blade.

Ezio realised he had been wrong to compare Giuliano's gaze to that of an artist. Leonardo's eyes did not devour, they explored, the way Ezio explored the rooftops of Florence. Out of simple curiosity, or so that he could more easily traverse them later at his leisure? Still, it was a gentle exploration, an appreciation of anatomy for its own sake rather than as a means to an end.

On impulse Ezio leaned closer and bent his head to kiss Leonardo on the lips. The artist's blue eyes widened.

"What was that for?" Leonardo asked softly.

"I wanted to thank you properly."

Leonardo smiled sadly and put his hands on Ezio's shoulders, holding him at arm's length. His fingers were cold from the water, but they seemed to burn Ezio's flesh like brands.

"You don't have to thank me like that. I know what you must have heard, but..." Leonardo shook his head. "Jacopo Saltarelli was my model, nothing more. I cannot lie; he was beautiful and I desired him, but it was he who made the first move, and when I rebuffed him he spread lies about me. Lies that must have reached those who envy my talent."

"I would never betray you, Leonardo."

"I believe you." He released Ezio. "Now, put your shirt on so you can get back to your friends. It's still wet, but at least you don't look like you've come straight from the abattoir."

Ezio shrugged into his damp shirt and even damper doublet. Perhaps he could send Annetta back to the palazzo later to get him a change or two of clothes; he did not relish going there again, not when it held so many bittersweet memories. No, best to do it himself, so as not to put Annettain danger. He knew a route back across the rooftops, and could drop down into the courtyard unseen.

"Farewell once again, my friend," he said to Leonardo.

"And to you. My door is open any time."

* * *

Leonardo closed the door and leant against it, his heart pounding. Blessed Madonna, that had been close! If the situation had not been so serious, he might even have succumbed... Thankfully there was plenty to do to take his mind off his errant libido, and it had to be done soon. He had tried to sound cheery when Ezio brought the dead guard into his house, but they were not out of the woods yet, not by a long way.

First he stripped the corpse naked and tore up the uniform into small strips that he could burn more easily. The rest of the clothes he could leave in a poor neighbourhood later, to be scavenged by those who would be glad of them. Most important, however, was to ensure that the dead man could not be identified even without his uniform.

Until now Leonardo had confined his dissections to the limbs and torso, whose workings were complex enough to fill months of investigation and note-taking, but which were anonymous enough that he could forget they had once belonged to living, breathing people. With this man, however, it was time to progress to a study of the facial muscles and perhaps the inner workings of the eye. Once flayed, one man's face would look much like another. He went to fetch his scalpels and retractors, and set about turning the dead guard into a nameless anatomical specimen.

**Author's Note:**

> Whilst I love Assassin’s Creed 2 to bits it has always irked me that the game, being marketed mainly at straight males, totally misrepresents the sexual mores of Renaissance Florence, firstly by avoiding any direct mention of homosexuality in cutscenes and secondly by showing the young characters behaving with the sexual freedom of 21st-century teenagers.
> 
> The former isn’t bad in itself since it’s arguably not relevant to the game, but it paves the way for completely unrealistic heterosexual interactions. For example, an early cut scene shows Ezio spending the entire night with Cristina Vespucci and nearly being caught by her father, an action that would almost certainly have resulted in a massive fine (payable into the now “sullied” Cristina’s dowry) or a shotgun wedding. Ezio’s teenage sexual experiences are far more likely to have been with older men, as this was the norm, rather than the exception, in fifteenth-century Florence. In fact this aspect of Florentine culture was so notorious throughout Europe that "Florenzer" was contemporary German slang for "homosexual". 
> 
> There's a simple reason behind this. The fifteenth century saw a massive rise in the number of nuns in Italy, because wealthy families preferred to put their surplus daughters into convents rather than pay dowries to husbands. Hence there were just not enough women to go around, and many noblemen never married. Limited access to women of their own class meant that these men had three choices: celibacy, prostitutes--and boys. And the classical literature that was the mainstay of Renaissance education had a lot to say about the pleasures of pederasty...
> 
> My Watsonian head canon is that the inaccuracies in the presentation of Renaissance sexuality were programmed into the animus by Abstergo. Concerned that a mismatch between the test subject’s sexual orientation and his or her ancestor’s experiences would lead to a rejection of the memory integration process, they added software filters to remove “inappropriate” memories and replace them with something less likely to cause discomfort. Rebecca didn't remove the filters in "Baby" because the Assassins were in a hurry - training Desmond was a higher priority than 100% historical accuracy.
> 
> So, yeah, Abstergo - I fixed that for you.


End file.
